He delved into his memory, dredging the very depths of his knowledge of ancient literature. Eventually something jumped out at him.
He turned to his computer and went into google. The results took just a moment or two.
Vogel leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Oh my God, he thought. Could this be possible? Leo, Al and Saul. The whole thing was unbelievable.
After just a few seconds he forced himself back into action. He printed out a couple of pages and reached for his phone to call Hemmings, then thought better of it. This needed to be done face-to-face. On the way through the incident room, he asked Willis and Saslow to join him.
They followed at once and he could feel their eyes on his back, as he strode purposefully along the corridor to Hemmings’s office. Vogel was excited and, at the same time, in a state of some shock. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his trembling hands were clutching the freshly printed pages.
Hemmings was on the phone when Vogel poked his head around his office door and asked if he could see him for a minute. Immediately, the DCI ended his call and beckoned Vogel and his two lieutenants in. Hemmings had realised immediately that something momentous was afoot.
Vogel knew he was blinking behind his spectacles as rapidly as he ever had in his life. He couldn’t help it. He feared that what he was about to say was going to sound crazy, so much so that he wasn’t sure he could deliver it with the required conviction.
‘We are looking for just one man, for three very different murders,’ he began. ‘The DNA results have made that virtually irrefutable. The thing is, what I think I have discovered is, that our perpetrator actually thinks he is three different people. Indeed, he lives his life as three different people.’
‘You’re losing me, Vogel,’ responded Hemmings. ‘What possible evidence do you have for that?’
‘Not evidence exactly, sir, but either I’m right or we have a pretty unbelievable coincidence. I’ve been playing with the names the bastard’s been using, jumbling up the letters and that sort of thing. At one point I removed the duplication. The names Leo, Al and Saul, contain two As and three Ls. So by removing two Ls and one A, I was left with the letters LEOASU.’
‘And so?’ enquired Hemmings.
‘Well I tried looking for anagrams, any combination of all, or some, of those letters that might make a word, or rather a name. One combination forms the word Aeolus. It even uses all the letters. AEOLUS. And it hit me straight away. I was focusing on some kind of connection with ancient mythology — because of the last names our killer had used, Homer and Ovid — and I remembered, or half-remembered anyway, who Aeolus was. I mean, it’s pretty unbelievable, but…’
‘Vogel, get on with it,’ instructed Hemmings.
‘Yes sir.’
Vogel looked down at the Wikipedia printout in his hand.
‘“Aeolus, a name shared by three mythical characters, was the ruler of the winds in Greek mythology. These three personages are often difficult to tell apart and even the ancient mythographers appear to have been perplexed about which Aeolus was which.’”
Vogel lowered the printout and looked directly at Hemmings. ‘It was Aeolus who gave Ulysses a tightly closed bag containing captured winds, so that he could sail easily home on a gentle, easterly breeze. But his men thought the bag was filled with riches, they opened it and unleashed a hurricane. And Homer relates that story in The Odyssey, his masterpiece.’
Vogel paused, waiting for the response of his fellow officers.
Saslow was the first to speak.
‘Well, our man has certainly unleashed a hurricane and he may not have finished,’ she said. ‘It’s crazy all right, boss, but I reckon you might be on to something.’
‘S-so you actually think the bastard believes he is three different people, boss?’ Willis enquired haltingly.
‘I think we are probably dealing with someone who is suffering from multiple personality disorder or dissociative identity disorder, as it is more usually known nowadays. His transition from one self to another is not always voluntary and when he is in one identity, he may have no memory of the others, or not all of them anyway,’ said Vogel. ‘That’s my basic understanding of this condition, but this would be a particularly extreme case.’
Hemmings looked stunned.
‘Well one thing’s for certain,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford any more mistakes on any of this. To start with, we need an expert medical opinion, Vogel.’
‘Yes boss. I was about to suggest that. There’s a trick cyclist in London, who Nobby Clarke called on in the aftermath of the Sunday Club murders. She’s a chum of Nobby’s, big in the world of criminal psychiatry. Our killer there had a personality disorder too, but nothing like this, though.’
‘All right. Well, get on with it then, Vogel. Try for a meet today, if you can. DCS Clarke will be the one to fix that for you, then, won’t she? And let’s keep this between ourselves, shall we, until we know a bit more.’
‘OK, boss.’
‘Meanwhile, we carry on looking for Al, Leo Ovid and Saul Homer as if they are three different people. I don’t see what else we can do.’
‘OK, boss,’ said Vogel again.
He led Willis and Saslow towards the door.
‘So, if you’re right, which would be his real self, then boss?’ asked Saslow as they stepped into the corridor. ‘Saul, Al, or Leo? And how do we know?’
‘I have no idea, Saslow,’ replied Vogel. ‘Maybe there’s even another self.’
‘What? Aeolus, you mean?’
‘Good point, but no, as well as Aeolus. Look, we have no other record of any crime where his DNA has been found. So maybe our man has been living an apparently normal life outside his three, or four if you include Aeolus, alter egos.’
‘Surely nobody could do that, boss,’ said Willis.
‘I have no idea what this bastard can and cannot do,’ replied Vogel. ‘He certainly doesn’t seem to do limits. If I am right, there is only one thing we know for absolute certain about him: he’s mad. Quite mad.’
Twenty-Four
Vogel called DS Clarke straight away.
‘Boss, I think I’ve got something here, but I need help to sort it out,’ he said. ‘Do you remember that trick cyclist, the one you got to help us tie up the loose ends after the Sunday Club murders, Freda something or other?’
‘Do you mean Professor Freda Heath, per chance, Vogel, arguably the most distinguished criminal psychiatrist in the country?’
‘That’s the one, boss. Could you arrange a meet, soonest?’
‘Perhaps, if you were a little more respectful, Vogel.’
‘Sorry, boss. Look, I think I may have sussed out something about this raving lunatic we’re both after, but I need to be sure I’m not going barmy myself. Can you fix a meet today?’
‘Vogel, you don’t half push it. It’s two thirty in the afternoon already and you have to get here from Bristol. Freda’s NHS. Do you expect her to drop everything?’
‘I hope you will persuade her too. Yes. We’ve got three deaths between us already, boss, and barely a clue to go on.’
‘She’ll want to know where you’re coming from, Vogel.’
‘Of course.’
Vogel briefly explained his hypothesis. When he’d finished there was a brief silence before Nobby Clarke spoke again.
‘So you think our man has, at least three, separate identities and may also believe that he is a figure from Greek mythology. Is that about it?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘You don’t think this is a theory that may be just a tad off the wall, do you, Vogel?’